


Just another brick in the wall

by darkersky



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkersky/pseuds/darkersky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with the new gym teacher is that no one knows why Gold hired her. Vice Principal Mills, in particular, is neither amused nor impressed.</p>
<p>(Emma + Regina + yolo = Teacher AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall & winter

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to write some cracky teacher fic for Swan Queen Week Day 4 and this happened and now I can't stop.
> 
> Forgive me, Father, for I feel like I may have sinned.

 

**Just another brick in the wall**

 

 

**_Fall & winter_ **

****

*

 

“ _That’s_ Jim’s replacement?”

"I’m afraid so."

Kathryn shakes her head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“ _I_  didn’t do that. You know Gold went over my head.”

"But how could he do that? I thought athletics was your department."

"So did I."

"Do you think there’s something fishy going on?"

"I know there is." No way,  _no way_ , would that person have gotten hired otherwise. Of that, Regina is sure.

 _T_ _hat_ _person_  keeps dragging the rusty soccer goal towards one end of the muddy field. She stops intermittently, wipes her forehead, then wipes her hands on her sweatpants, continues.

Kathryn shakes her head, turns and starts to walk away. After a few steps she stops, turns again, looks questioningly at Regina. “Lunch?”

One final look at the sole figure dragging the weathered metal object on muddy grass.  _No way._ "Sure."

 

*

 

"How are you settling in, Miss Swan?"

Emma looks up from the pile of ropes she’s been trying to sort out. Ropes that, instead of dangling from the ceiling of the gym, lie abandoned in one corner of her tiny and probably moldy (seriously, something must be living and growing inside those walls – her clothes  _stink_ every night when she gets home) office.

Mr. Gold’s smile is welcoming, maybe even a little  _too_  welcoming.

"I’m… Well…" What can she say?  _Your equipment sucks. There’s mold in my office. Oh, and none of_ _my colleagues_ _are talking to me because apparently I replaced_ _the most popular teacher in school_ _. That enough for you, Mr._ _Principal?_

"Oh, don’t worry, Miss Swan, I understand. Not everything here is quite state of the art, but I’m sure you know how it is everywhere."

"Right. Budget cuts."

"Exactly."

"I’ve seen worse." She glances at the pile of tangled ropes again. "Kinda."

Mr. Gold is still smiling. “Well, I do appreciate your honesty. Now, have a good day.”

Emma listens to the sound of footsteps and a cane on cheap linoleum.

Would anyone even notice if she took a hammer to the wall of the office? Just to, you know, check what’s inside in case it’s not something living.

Because what does she know. It could be something dying.

 

*

 

Athletics  _is_ Regina’s department. And if Gold thinks he can play this game, then, well, she can play it, too.

It’s time to meet and greet this  _person_  she has only seen in passing during her first week of employment and see what’s supposed to be so special about her, because so far? She hasn’t been impressed. Emma Swan always seems to be dragging things around and when she’s not doing that, she’s running somewhere. Or driving. Or, occasionally,  _c_ _rawling_ , as was the case the other day when Regina saw her slowly make her way towards something on the bleachers with a hammer between her teeth. She had to roll her eyes at the sight.  _Classy_.

The gym is dark. First she thinks there is no one there (and yes, it is quite late in the afternoon, but you have to get to them when they are not expecting it), then she hears something from the direction of the weight room.

The sound of her heels on the floor echoes in the deserted corridor.

The noise stops and a head peeks out the door. Messy, sweaty strands of blonde hair. “Can I help you?” Emma Swan asks.

"You do realize the weight room is reserved for students only?"

"What?" Irritation flashes in Emma Swan’s confused eyes. "I wasn’t lifting weights. The damn bench press machine collapsed."

"It collapsed? Just like that?"

"Yes.  _It collapsed._  Like everything in this goddamn building keeps collapsing.”

"I seriously doubt that’s the case."

For a moment it looks like Emma Swan might say something else, but she remains quiet, runs a slender hand through strands of damp hair.

"Are you quite finished, Miss Swan?"

Emma Swan sighs. “You are the vice principal, aren’t you?”

"Oh, yes, I am indeed." Regina smiles. "Have a nice rest of the evening, Miss Swan." She turns on her heels, glances over her shoulder, and she’s satisfied by the stunned look on Emma Swan’s face.

Only when she’s outside and walking towards her car does Regina allow the smile to turn victorious.

Well, well, it looks like Emma Swan might not last long. Gold was clearly wrong about her, no matter what he was thinking when he decided to hire her.

 

*

 

"Mom?"

…

_"Mom?"_

"What?"

"How bad was it today?"

"Pretty bad, kid. Pretty bad."

Damn the damn bench press machine. Damn the damn school. Damn her colleagues who look right through her. (Except for the history teacher who  _almost_ smiled at her today.) Damn always almost being late for her first class because her parking spot just happens to be the furthest from the school.

And yes, damn the vice principal who happened to witness her embarrassing outburst when she was hungry and tired and  _so_ ready to go home already.

Damn everything.

 

*

 

She bursts into Gold’s office. He’s on the phone, holds up a hand, says, “Thank you,” and ends the call. He turns his attention to her, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Regina. To what do I owe—”

"Save it," Regina says before Gold can finish. "Remind me again why you got rid of Jim."

"Ah, it’s nice to see you, too. How’s that budget proposal coming along?"

She ignores his question. “Athletics and extracurriculars. Those are  _mine_.”

"And that’s precisely why you know as well as I do that Jim was unqualified."

"He’s been here longer than many others."

"And yet, strangely, that doesn’t make him any more qualified for the position. We are talking formalities here, Regina, nothing personal. It was always supposed to be temporary."

"Why her?"

"Why not her? Unlike Jim, Miss Swan has all the necessary certifications. We don’t really get many applicants like that here, now do we?"

"Yes, I’m sure that’s all there is to that."

"Oh, do you still not trust me? Don’t you know how much that hurts my feelings?"

Regina is not amused.

Gold leans his chin on his hands, smiles. “You shouldn’t let your loyalty to your friends, however admirable that quality is, cloud your judgment. I know you are capable of being reasonable and objective and if you are willing to remember that, too, well, then I’m certain it will be sooner rather than later that you understand that Miss Swan is an extremely valuable addition to our ranks.”

Something about the way Gold says  _valuable_  seems significant. Now she only needs to find out what that significance is. It can’t be that hard.

She’s even more determined to do that because of Gold’s half-veiled insinuations that loyalty is something less than everything. Jim in some other universe would be expendable. Kathryn, however, would never be that, and Jim is something to Kathryn. Ergo, Jim is someone who should matter.

 

*

 

"Enjoying your lunch?"

Emma looks up. She finds herself face to face with a woman with short, dark hair. “Seriously?”

"What?" The woman’s eyes widen in surprise mixed with alarm.

"I’m just amazed someone is actually talking to me."

"Oh, because of Jim? Yeah, everyone hates that he’s gone."

"Great."

"Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, because yes, he was nice. He was very nice."

"Okay."

"I’m sure you’re… nice, too." The woman’s voice falls flat towards the end of the sentence and her smile deflates like a balloon.

"I’m sorry, who are you?" Emma asks.

"No,  _I_ am sorry, I’m… My name’s Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

"Emma Swan," Emma says and offers her hand for a handshake.

Mary Margaret Blanchard takes a quick look around, as if checking if anyone sees, before she quickly shakes Emma’s hand. And… seriously?

_Seriously?_

*

 

It’s pouring outside when Regina looks out of the window of her office. The temperature is in the 40s and everything looks miserable.

Even Emma Swan, who is running towards her car, the hood of her red sweatshirt pulled tight over her head, looks miserable.

The red sweatshirt and the yellow car are the only flashes of color in the whole scenery. Then they are both gone, swallowed by all the gray.

It’s one of those days when Regina wonders if the world will ever not be cold again.

 

*

 

This time Mary Margaret almost doesn’t hesitate before she sits down opposite Emma. “Kathryn is sleeping with Jim,” she whispers too loud.

"Well, hello to you, too."

"Oh. Hi. I’m sorry. I just had to tell someone."

"And you chose… me?"

"Well, you are new."

"Okay?" Emma is not quite sure how that makes sense. "Which one is Kathryn again?"

"That one." Mary Margaret nods towards the woman talking to that history teacher by the coffeemaker. The one who almost smiled at her that one time. Emma is pretty sure his name is David something. Now he’s laughing at something Kathryn is saying.

"You don’t like her, do you?"

"No, not really. In fact I harbor intense feelings of resentment towards her."

"Oh,  _w_ _hoa_  there. What did she do?”

"Well, long story short, she married my ex-husband."

"Your ex…  _What?_ ”

"Yes. Kathryn Nolan is now married to my ex-husband David Nolan. They are the Nolans, Emma,  _the Nolans_.”

Emma doesn’t know if she should fear the intensity that’s bordering on hysteria. “But isn’t David the one she’s…”

"Yes."

"And didn’t you just say Kathryn and Jim…"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"Well, it’s not like anyone’s supposed to know about Kathryn and Jim."

"Ah. So naturally everyone knows, right?"

"Not everyone."

Emma follows the line of Mary Margaret’s sad gaze. The target at the end of that line seems to be none other than her ex-husband.

This place is certainly… something. But hey, as long as she stays out of it (and never, ever shares a secret of any kind with Mary Margaret), watching all the drama unfold could be entertaining.

Maybe.

Then there is the sound of heels approaching and Emma wants to hide under the table. She doesn’t, though, but, instead, asks, “Hey, does Gold have a first name?”

"No one knows," Mary Margaret whispers. "No one."

 

*

 

"I think Jim will actually be happier coaching than he was teaching."

Both Regina and Kathryn turn to glare at David at that.

"I’m just saying," David says. "Besides, the newbie seems to be doing alright. She was fixing the bleachers till late last Tuesday."

"She’s just sucking up to Gold," Kathryn says. "Regina thinks so, too, don’t you?"

Regina doesn’t say anything. She blows into her coffee, takes a sip, cringes internally.

Emma Swan is talking to Mary Margaret Blanchard. Of course she is.

 

*

 

There is something sad about an empty soccer field on the first day of frost.

Soon, very soon it will be empty for a long time. Empty and useless, all winter long.

Emma sighs after she has gathered all the scattered soccer balls into a string bag at the end of the day.

Empty and useless. The words keep echoing in her head.

Thank god it’s  _almost_  Friday.

 

*

 

Sometimes Regina thinks weekends are harder than weekdays.

Sometimes there is no number of glasses of wine that can make her feel otherwise.

 

*

 

Saturday nights in the small bar in the nearest slightly bigger small town are not _entirely_ like that.

It’s not entirely a night devoted to glitter, unicorns and gay loving.

Not entirely.

"Emma?" Ruby asks.

"I have to go."

"Already? Why? I’ve barely seen you since the school year began. Come on, let’s have some fun. And  _talk._ I miss talking to you.”

"No, I really have to go."

"Wait, who  _is_  that?” Ruby asks when she finally notices that Emma’s gaze is glued to the person who just came in with a guy with a 90s haircut trailing behind her.

"My boss," Emma says. Her heart is pounding and her palms are getting sweaty.

Saturday nights are not  _entirely_ like that.

"Shit," Ruby says. " _Shit._ But Saturdays are not exclusively…”

"No, but they kinda are, aren’t they?"

 

*

 

Regina almost doesn’t recognize her. She looks very different in a dress and with curly hair.

The dress is red just like her ever-present hooded sweatshirt. That’s where the similarities end. The sweatshirt does not…  _reveal_ as much.

She’s suddenly not in the mood for anything this place has to offer.

Besides, what the hell is someone who is friends with Mary Margaret Blanchard doing here of all places?

 

*

 

"Miss Swan."

_No. Oh no._

*

 

Deer. Headlights. That’s Emma Swan right now. “I’m here with a friend,” Emma Swan says, busies herself with digging her purse for something, probably for the keys to the yellow car.

"So am I, actually," Regina says before she realizes that in her case it’s probably a much more revealing admission. She glares at Emma Swan because somehow the fact that she just said that must be Emma Swan’s fault. It’s Emma Swan’s fault, because Emma Swan shouldn’t be here.

And Emma Swan shouldn’t be wearing a dress that…  _reveals_ so much.

That dress and the red lipstick.

"I’m gonna go now. Enjoy your evening. With your friend," Emma Swan says.

Before Regina can come up with an answer, she’s already on her way towards her car.

Emma Swan is always on the move. That makes it hard to bring her into focus. And that? That makes her hard to figure out.

 

*

 

"Hello," David says on Monday.

"Hi," Emma says.

 _Two people._ Two people are now talking to her. Or at least saying hello.

She studies David’s face for a while and his smile looks friendly enough. “So you teach history, right?”

"Yes."

"Could you help me understand the battle lines?"

"Battle lines?" David looks confused.

"Yeah."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

David’s voice is low, conspiratorial, “So you’ve heard?”

"About what?"

"There’s evil lurking in these hallways. A monster from another land. I hear Regina and Gold are preparing for the carnage as the battle lines are being drawn…"

Emma rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

David’s laugh is deep and there seems to be no end to it. Finally, he pulls himself together. “I’m sorry. Yes, you are right, wherever two or more are gathered in the name of education, there’s bound to be drama. This school is no exception.”

It’s a vague answer, but oh well. “Okay. And which side are you on?”

"I’d like to think I’m on the side of good."

"And which side is that?"

David smiles. “I have no idea. Historically, it’s usually been the side that’s winning.”

At that, Emma laughs. It’s nice to laugh for a change.

 

*

 

Monday.

Kathryn visited her on Sunday. She nodded absent-mindedly at Kathryn’s tales of her relationship woes. All the while she kept thinking how hard it must be, having two people so in love with you (even if one of them might still also have feelings for his ex).

Regina was still thinking about that when she was lying awake at three a.m. and listening to the sound of sirens in the distance. She hadn’t felt that… caged inside her own home in a long time.

Regina sighs.

It shouldn’t be like this. Nothing should be like this.

What she sees when she looks out of the window doesn’t make her feel any less weary.

Emma Swan is high-fiving a student, grinning. Another student is seemingly threatening to throw a baseball at one of his classmates. Emma Swan lifts a warning finger and the student stops. It’s not long before they are all laughing at something.

Emma Swan keeps grinning and Regina feels a pang of something. Anger, maybe, or longing – sometimes it’s hard to distinguish between the two.

They must like Emma Swan. The students.

It shouldn’t be like this. Nothing should be like this.

 

*

 

So maybe there’s mold in her office, but she supposes there are moments when it’s not all bad. The job.

It’s the people, Emma thinks. Mary Margaret and maybe even David and the vast majority of students.

Then there are those people she has no idea what to make of. Like Gold. Or Kathryn.

Or Regina Mills.

For some reason, Regina Mills has been on her mind a lot since Saturday.

What is  _'with a friend'_   code for when it’s a male friend?

Does it even matter?

 

*

 

Emma Swan is doing pull-ups. One, two, three, four, five. Then she lets go of the bar, lands on her feet, strips off her sweatshirt and tosses it into a corner.

Her skin is glistening, beads of sweat rolling down her shoulder blades, down her arms. She flexes her arms, as if checking if they are still working, and muscles appear where there formerly were none.

It can wait, Regina decides. Her lecture about the weight room being reserved for students only can wait. And that other thing she came to say. Whatever it was.

She’s about to walk away, her throat oddly tight, mouth dry, when she hears the, “What’s up?”

Emma Swan is staring. Her tank top is almost entirely soaked, and, as a result, almost entirely transparent.

Regina blinks. “I was merely…”

"What?" Emma Swan asks when no more words come. She starts patting her face dry with a small towel.

"Need I remind you of the rules regarding the usage of the weight room?"

She flees before she can hear what Emma Swan is muttering under her breath.

 

*

_Interesting._

 

*

 

One day Kathryn’s smile is the smile of someone who has just won the lottery.

Regina is not sure why she has a bad feeling about that smile.

"I think I figured out why Gold hired Emma Swan," Kathryn says.

Suddenly Regina is not sure she wants to know. Which doesn’t make sense.

At all.

 

*

 

Emma is just about to lock the door of the gym for the night when everything sort of goes to hell.

Because suddenly there is a Regina Mills in front of her. And she looks pissed.

 

*

 

"Your grandfather," she hisses.

Emma Swan’s eyes widen.

"That’s why Gold went behind my back and hired you. I should have known there was something off about you."

The state senator. Leopold White. Both he and his politics – as white and entitled as his name. He’s everything she resents. Every single hurdle she’s had to cross in her life. That’s Mary Margaret Blanchard and her  _I’m not, but_  bullshit. That’s Gold and his  _How would you like_ _a little_ _break from teaching?_ _Just for a while?_ bullshit. Leopold White and the likes of him represent every. single. one of those things. There must be no end to Gold’s hunger for friends in high places if this is how far down he’s willing to sink. What was he thinking? That Emma Swan’s presence here might miraculously save the school? The whole school district? The whole goddamn universe?

She can’t help but feel personally violated by the whole thing.

And why isn’t Emma Swan saying anything? Why is she just staring, wordlessly, the way her hands have slowly curled into fists the only indication that she’s even heard a word of what Regina is saying.

"My grandfather," Emma Swan finally says. It’s quiet. Perhaps a warning. "You want to talk about my grandfather?"

"Not particularly, no."

"No, you started it so I’m going to tell you about my grandfather."

"I’m not interested in hearing what a nice person he is."

"No? Well then, guess what he thought when I was seventeen and pregnant?"

"You were… What?"

"Guess what he fucking thought?"

"How would I know?"

"Well, here’s the funny thing – I don’t know either. But the fact that I haven’t heard from him since gives me a pretty good idea. So don’t you fucking throw his name in my face. Don’t you fucking  _dare._ ”

"I…"

"No."

 

*

 

She’s sitting on the floor of the shower room. The tiles are cool, sort of comforting.

Whenever someone brings up her grandfather, it’s, well. It’s like this. The thought that the fact that she’s related to him might be the reason she was hired? Well, that just makes her nauseated.

Emma is surprised by the sound of footsteps. Or maybe she isn’t. Who knows these days.

Regina Mills’s expression is wary, closed off. “I suppose I’m sorry.”

Emma sighs. “Me, too.”

"For what?"

"I don’t even know," Emma says.

For a while there’s nothing but the sound of a tap dripping bouncing off the tiled walls.

Regina smiles tentatively. “So you… have a child?”

"A son."

"He must be what? Ten, eleven?"

"Almost eleven."

"That must be nice. Having someone."

"It is."

She sighs again and wills her body to absorb some more of the coolness of the tiles. She closes her eyes and keeps them closed because otherwise she’s not going to be able to get the words out. “You know what, Regina? That other thing? That time we met in that place? Unicorns and glitter night?”

"Don’t."

Emma opens one eye, peeks.

Regina shakes her head, smiles gently. “I don’t need to know.”

Or maybe she’s saying, _‘I already know._ _'_ It might be sort of hard to miss, after all.

 

*

 

The heating in Regina’s office is not working properly.

Nothing at this school is working properly. There’s no reason to deny that.

She looks out of the window and it’s snowing. The snow is already forming drifts so it has probably been snowing for a while.

She spots what she’s maybe looking for. Emma Swan is shoveling snow off the pathway that leads to the door to the gym building. Her movements are precise, a little angry.

Emma probably shouldn’t be the person who’s doing the shoveling.

Except she probably enjoys it. Just like she apparently enjoys fixing things.

It’s a thought that stirs something in her. It’s undefined and it’s not quite anything she cares to analyze too much. Not yet.

 

*

 

"If you wanted a new bench press machine, there might be money in the budget."

"What?" Her arms hurt after all that shoveling.

"Money. In the budget." An underlying _‘Are you dim, Miss Swan?_ _'_ hangs heavy in the air. Emma knows that look from her own school days.

"Why?" A horrible, foreboding feeling that she’s somehow being bought off.

"Because this school should have at least some decent equipment."

"What do you want?" Emma asks.

"Why would you think I want something from you?"

"Because there is no money in the budget. I checked with Gold."

"Gold, huh?" Regina tsks. "When will you learn you should be careful with him."

"Oh, I should be careful with  _him_?”

Regina’s expression darkens. “You should be careful.” The unsaid  _with everyone_ lingers.

"Is that a threat?"

"Since when were words of solid advice a threat?"

"I don’t know. But you just said I should be careful _._ ”

"You learn fast, Miss Swan." For a second, Regina’s lips quirk into a smile, but then it’s gone. "And if I were you, I wouldn’t get too friendly with Mary Margaret Blanchard."

Emma finds that particular warning a little ridiculous. Mary Margaret may be overdramatic and a little too intense, but she doubts she could be considered a real threat. “Really? What’s she gonna do? Poison my lunch?”

"No. But if you divulge any… personal information to her, well, it’s only a matter of hours before everyone knows."

Oh yeah. As if she would ever want to do that. “I’ve kinda noticed.”

"Good."

"Is that all?" Emma asks. She can’t help how she probably sounds a little amused.

Regina stares at her. She does not look amused. Like, at all. There are storm warnings in her eyes. “Do you like teaching, Emma?”

"What?" It’s equal parts a reaction to Regina using her first name and the question itself.

"Do you enjoy it? Is it something you can see yourself doing long-term?"

"Yeah, I mean, it’s pretty much the only thing I know how to do."

"Do you know what happens to a gay teacher in a small town? In  _this_ particular small town?”

"Umm. I don’t suppose they get fired, do they?"

"No. That’s not what happens. Not anymore. Instead, they are appointed to minor, harmless positions of power. Just so there’s some distance between them and the students."

"Oh."

"If you like teaching, you should be careful."

There’s something there. Something that makes her want to reach out, but there are boundaries. For a moment or two, however, Emma feels bold. “Do you miss it?” she asks.

"What?"

"Do you miss teaching?"

Regina is quiet. Something in her eyes softens, then hardens.

Emma hasn’t even realized her heart is pounding.

"No," Regina says. There’s a certain finality to the word.

The finality lingers even after the sound of heels on linoleum is long gone.

 

*

 

She does miss teaching. She misses every single aspect of it. The students. The books. The blackboard. Even the piles and piles of essays towards the end of the semester.

She misses all those things she no longer has because of Mary Margaret Blanchard’s inability to keep secrets.

She misses many things. She misses the way the world used to feel less cold.

The way she used to feel less alone even when it was just those piles and piles of essays towards the end of the semester.

 

*

 

"You came out to your boss?"

"No, I… I didn’t, but I also kinda did, I guess."

"Atta girl," Ruby says.

"Ugh. Don’t make me feel like a dog."

"No, seriously, Emma. It’s a good thing."

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

"Besides, she’s hot."

Emma glares.

"Oh, don’t act so innocent. Like you haven’t noticed."

… yeah. The problem is she  _has_  noticed that. She has definitely noticed that and that might be why she put on that show that one day when she heard the sound of heels approaching (it’s just damn impossible to walk quietly in those things) when she wasn’t even really doing pull-ups, but it just somehow suddenly seemed like the thing to do even though she had just run fifteen laps on the slightly slippery track outside.


	2. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casually reminding you of the fact that most of this was written after 1 a.m.

 

_*_

_**Spring** _

 

*

 

"Would you… Do you want to come over for a cup of tea tomorrow?"

Emma stares at Mary Margaret. She’s not sure what to say. Yes, they talk over lunch on most days and have maybe kind of become friends, but this feels like a huge step, somehow.

Mixing work and private life is the exact kind of thing she’s been trying to avoid.

It’s the exact thing she should know to avoid.

But she doesn’t exactly have many people in her life who are not eleven years old and Mary Margaret’s voice trembles a little when she says, “It’s just that ever since David…” and Emma doesn’t want to be, like,  _the worst person basically ever_  which is how saying no would feel.

"Okay, sure."

"Great. I’ll text you my address. Is seven-ish okay?"

"Seven’s great."

Mary Margaret beams at Emma and Emma feels slightly guilty because she’s more nervous than excited about this whole thing even though she can’t help also being slightly curious.

But then there’s that other thing. Not  _that_ other thing, but the  _other_  other thing. Emma keeps playing with the remains of her sandwich, can’t quite decide whether it’s easier to look or not look at Mary Margaret. “Mary Margaret?”

"Yes?"

She weighs the pros and cons. So maybe the whole school will know. But it’s not like he’s a dirty secret, right? In fact, he’s the one thing she’s actually proud of. “I have a son. He’s eleven.”

Mary Margaret looks surprised, but recovers fast. Her smile looks genuinely delighted. “Oh? That’s… That’s wonderful, Emma. He’s invited, too, of course.”

 

*

 

It’s the first day when the weather feels somewhat warm again.

Kathryn’s tone, however, carries no warmth at all when she says, “I don’t think I can do this for much longer.”

"Then don’t," Regina says.

"I can’t keep lying to David," Kathryn says.

"Then stop lying to David."

"It’s not that simple," Kathryn says. She shakes her head slowly.

"Well, it never is."

"It used to be easier when I saw Jim at work every day, but now with his new job and everything… Things are different."

"How is that, by the way? The new job?"

A frown. “David was right. Jim _is_  happier coaching than he ever was teaching. It’s strange.” They are in Regina’s office, standing by the window, and Kathryn’s eyes follow the person running towards the gym building with five minutes to spare before her first class. “Do you think she’ll stay?”

It’s not exactly a feeling of impending loss. No, it’s the feeling of not having thought of some possible scenario and it suddenly seeming like something that might very well happen. “Where would she go?”

"I don’t know. I just know her kind don’t usually stick around for too long."

That’s what Regina thought, too, but so far, Emma Swan has persevered.

But what if Emma Swan won’t come back next semester? Like Gold said, it’s not like the school attracts a lot of qualified applicants.

Hiring a new person would be an awful hassle.

 

*

 

There’s a surprisingly hipsterish vibe to the way Mary Margaret’s place is decorated, but Emma has also made a mental note of the cross hanging on one wall and wondered what it means.

Mary Margaret seemingly deliberates for a while, drums the fingers of one hand on her tea mug, glances at the boy flipping through a comic book in the living room before asking in a lowered voice, “So, his father. Is he… around?”

"Not really." But she doesn’t want the admission to be like a neon sign flashing  _drama_ , so she adds, “We’re still kinda friends, though, I guess.” It’s been a while, after all, since she last had the urge to strangle Neal for being a listless motherfucker. It’s all fine and dandy as long as she doesn’t think too much about the child support checks that never turned up during the first year – the year when she would have needed them the most.

"That’s good. Maybe some day David and I will get there, too. It’s just hard, you know? I see him every day and it’s always as weird to see him get in the car with Kathryn and…" Mary Margaret shakes her head. "But enough about my drama. Tell me about yours. So no boyfriend?"

Internally, Emma’s groaning, but the truth is the truth, right? “No boyfriend.” Not since the one who was almost entirely a  _ju_ _st making sure guys are not it_  kind of thing. Needless to say, no amount of guyliner could turn that particular experiment into anything but a wild success. Guys are definitely not  _it_.

"Well, here’s to not needing a man." Mary Margaret raises her mug.

Emma raises her own mug, clinks it against Mary Margaret’s. To not needing a man indeed. It’s just that _d_ _amn damn damn_ , perceived heterosexuality established once again.

She knows that’s how it has to be for now, but still.  _D_ _a_ _mn_.

 

*

 

Sunlight is creating shapes on the white A4 Regina has in front of her on the table. It’s a list of bullet points, and they are not even halfway through them.

The staff meeting drones on and on with Gold talking about test scores and how the prom committee finally decided on a theme and how this year there is enormous pressure to make sure there will be absolutely no repetition of what happened last year with Felix and Wendy and Peter and that bottle of rum. Parents kept calling for weeks. This year no calls will come and  _is that clear_ _, dear_ _est_ _colleagues_?

Regina surveys the people sitting closest to her. Kathryn keeps staring straight ahead with eyes of steel and David looks like he’s nodding off. Mary Margaret Blanchard is knitting a sock under the table and doing a horrible job of attempting to hide it.

And then there’s Emma Swan, sitting with her back to the window and, against the sunlight, her hair is almost golden. She’s doodling and she looks tired, dark circles under her eyes. Which is strange, considering her usually rather more  _frolicsome_  nature.

And that’s when Regina’s cell phone vibrates on the table and when she sees who’s calling, her heart stops beating for a second or two. She can’t help the way her hands start to shake.

She stares at the phone. It makes no sense that she’d call now.

It makes no sense and there’s a horrible coldness somewhere in her chest.

The screen of the phone keeps flashing. Then it goes dark.

Why would she call now?

 

*

 

Damn kids. They get sick and then they stay up all night talking feverishly. Fortunately, Ruby was able to come to the rescue in the morning and stay with him (probably telling him all too gory stories about werewolves) so Emma didn’t have to beg Gold for a day off.

Actually, she’s not sure she would have had to beg, because Gold seems to like her. Which in itself makes her uncomfortable, because she’s not sure it’s actually  _her_ he likes but rather some abstract thing that she has become in his head.

It’s like she’s his very own fucking Personal Jesus or something.

The staff meeting is finally over and she realizes she doesn’t remember much of anything Gold said. Something about a group of students and booze and an incident involving nudity.

Through her tired haze she does what she so instinctively does these days, she  _glances_ , and she notices that Regina is still sitting by the conference table, looking dazed and white-knuckled, almost as if she hasn’t even realized that the meeting is over.

"You okay?" she asks before she realizes it might not be the wisest thing to do.

Regina doesn’t say anything. She glares, but there’s something empty about that glare. It’s indifferent more than angry.

Right. They aren’t exactly friends. You don’t pry into your boss’s private matters. You just don’t. “I’m sorry,” Emma says. “Just… See you around.”

Regina’s still not saying anything, she just gets up, gathers her things and strides towards her office without so much as a second look at Emma. And can she really be blamed?  _See you around_? How stupid does that sound? They see each other, alright, they just apparently mostly choose to ignore each other.

That’s how it is now and Emma is not sure if it’s good or bad.

Maybe it’s better than when Regina used to complain about everything all the time in the beginning. Maybe it isn’t.

Sometimes when she’s sitting in her moldy office and thinks she just heard the sound of heels approaching and then realizes she just imagined it (or maybe it was the mouse that apparently lives in the boys’ locker room rattling the water pipes), she never quite knows if she’s disappointed or relieved.

 

*

 

Regina is in her office when the phone goes off again, and she closes her eyes. No, she can’t do this.

But she’s never been able not to do this.

"Why are you calling me?" she says by way of greeting.

"Well, hello, dear. It’s nice to hear your voice, too."

"Why are you calling?" she asks again, this time more angrily.

"I’m calling, because I would like to see you of course."

Yes.  _Obviously_. After two years of radio silence. “Why?”

"Why, Regina? Are you really asking me  _why_? Do I need a reason to see my daughter?”

"Yes, mother, you usually do."

"You never fail to demonize me, do you?"

 _Likewise, mother, likewise_ , she wants to say, but she never could. She never can. “I don’t need to demonize you. You do a good job of that yourself.”

"Harsh words, my dear,  _such_ harsh words. But,  _w_ _ell_ , I’m coming to town whether or not you approve of that plan or not.”

"What? You… You’re coming  _here_?”

"Yes. The always lovely Mr. Gold invited me."

"Whatever for?"

"Well,  _some_ of the school’s former students have actually built themselves really rather formidable careers so I assume that’s why he wanted me to speak to his current students about ambition. Apparently there’s been a sore lack of that particular quality amongst them.”

“ _Some_ of the school’s former students?” she asks before she loses her nerve. It’s the word  _ambition._ It gets her every time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Of course she knows what it means.

"Well, if you consider a career in secondary education a formidable career then by all means, dear, feel free to include yourself in that group of people."

"Well, mother, maybe some of us want other things in life."

"Oh yes, the possibility  _has_  crossed my mind. In fact, it’s been on my mind ever since you decided to stay behind with your father. So tell me, dear, what exactly do you have to show for those  _other_  things? Has anything changed since we last talked? Anything at all?”

Regina hits  _End call_ before she has time to regret it. And in a few minutes when the urge to call back and apologize will come, she won’t give in to it. She will not.

She attempts to focus on paperwork, makes a conscious effort of pointing out all of Gold’s nonsensical sentence structures, and then another thought sneaks up on her.

Emma Swan was the only one who  _noticed_.

Maybe Emma Swan was watching her as closely as she sometimes watches Emma Swan. She mostly watches her when she doesn’t realize she’s being watched. When she’s painting lines on the once-again-green soccer field or hauling string bags full of brand new basketballs around the schoolyard.

Emma Swan.  _Emma._ That’s what she’s been calling her in her head lately, ever since the thought of Emma perhaps leaving started to haunt her. ( _Professionally_ , she thinks, because she won’t let Gold manipulate the process of hiring the next one.) She’s never called her that to her face, though. Not since that one time.

It’s better that way. Safer.

 

*

 

When Emma gets home, she collapses on the couch. “How is he?” she asks, her face buried in a pillow.

"He’s doing alright. He finally fell asleep an hour ago, which is good, because I was running out of werewolf stories," Ruby says. "How was work?"

"I have no idea."

"That bad, huh? You had to develop short-term memory loss? I thought the worst part was over already."

"Yeah, well, try dealing with teenagers on two hours of sleep."

"Aww. You poor thing," Ruby purrs and lays a warm hand on Emma’s back and gently kneads the sore muscles.

Emma has to put a lot of effort into not making any inappropriate noises because the touch feels so nice. But it’s Ruby and not… someone else so she must be really touch-deprived, because while they have known each other for a long time, it’s never been like that. She sighs into the pillow. “I’m also pretty sure my boss hates me.”

"The hot one?"

"You keep saying that. Do you want her number or something? Because I can give you her number so you can get a taste of that temper as well."

"No, thank you. But only because you’d get jealous."

At that, Emma extracts her face from the pillow and glares. “Fuck you. And fuck Regina.”

"You wish, right?" Ruby says, but when a pillow hits her, she laughs and asks, "Why would she hate you? Didn’t she act all protective just a couple of months ago?"

"I don’t think that was about me as much as it was about me not making her job any harder. She probably just doesn’t want to deal with any messes."

"It sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that."

"Nah." It’s not like she sometimes stays up at night and  _wonders_. She wonders why it is that sometimes, sometimes when Regina’s been acting particularly cold towards her, she has the urge to throw a thousand  _fuck you_ s in her face while sometimes she just has the urge to… What? Fuck her?

Well, that would be just fucked up and she’s tired, and that’s probably the only reason she’s even allowing herself to think these thoughts.

 

*

 

Maybe she should just ask.

She does, after all, usually favor a direct approach.

 

*

 

It happens very slowly yet surely, and by the time Emma realizes what it is, her head is very heavy and she’s shivering.

When she almost literally runs  _into_  David in the hallway, he asks if she’s feeling alright.

"Take a nap," Mary Margaret says at lunch. "I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time."

Emma has a feeling Mary Margaret is being too optimistic, but she has a free period next so she proceeds to lie down on the ratty couch in her office. Because yeah, sure, a nap in a toxic environment will surely thwart any killer flu viruses.

Damn kids and their killer flu viruses. (Even though she has to admit seeing his grin this morning when he was gulping down pancakes after days of no appetite at all felt kinda perfect. It was the grin she wouldn’t give up for the world.)

 

*

 

Emma is asleep on the couch. Finally she’s still. It would be entirely possible to survey her now. Bring her into focus.

Except, no, that’s not what she came here to do. Regina clears her throat once, twice, and finally Emma stirs, opens one sleepy eye. Her gaze is slightly unfocused. “What?” she murmurs, voice sleep-heavy.

"Our tax dollars hard at work, it seems," Regina says with a raised eyebrow.

Emma groans and sits up. The dark circles under her eyes are even more apparent now. “What do you want?” she asks. She’s always asking that.

Regina wonders what would happen if she told the truth that seems so obvious in some of her weaker moments. Moments when she’s on the brink of falling asleep and suddenly her head is filled with thoughts of  _skin_ and everything about her throbs painfully and when she comes with a gasp and a shudder a few moments later, she’s not sure if she should feel ashamed so she chooses not to. It’s human and she’s been alone for a long time. “What are your plans for next year?” she asks.

"My what?"

"Next year. Are you going to be here?"

"I… Are you firing me?"

There seems to be something seriously wrong with Emma’s brain today. “Where would you get that idea? No, I’m not firing you, I’m merely inquiring if you have any immediate plans of leaving town.”

Emma blinks. “Oh. No. I mean, I guess not?”

"Good. Feel free to resume you napping."

Emma groans again and leans against the back of the couch. She looks pale.

So, on second thought, “Miss Swan?”

"What?"

"Go home. Get some rest."

 

*

 

On Emma’s third day of shivering uncontrollably under a pile of blankets, her phone rings.

"Yeah?" she says.

"Miss Swan. How long are you going to be sick?"

Something deep in her stirs and she smiles. “Are you calling to check up on me?”

"You didn’t answer my question."

Emma rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be sick. That’s not exactly up to me.”

"Drink some orange juice. Pop a few pills."

"O- _kay_?”

"Your substitute is a moron."

The line goes dead.

 

*

 

It’s not that Regina misses her.

It’s just that her substitute is a moron.

 

*

 

A little over two weeks after Emma’s bout of killer flu, Mary Margaret sits down opposite her, cringes and looks embarrassed. She lowers her voice as she only sometimes does when she’s delivering sensitive information. “I broke our  _no men_ pact.”

"Oh," Emma says. "I wasn’t aware that there was a pact, but go on."

"I had a one-night stand."

Emma almost chokes on her salad. “What?” She’s not entirely sure if she even wants to know.

"It was this doctor and he was…" Mary Margaret makes a face. " _Ugh_. Do you think that’s wrong?”

"One-night stands?"  _Oh, hell no._  “Nothing wrong with that.” Right. Tune down the enthusiasm a little, will you, Swan. No need to have Mary Margaret thinking all sorts of things about your private life. Because maybe the day will come when Mary Margaret will be able to connect all the dots. Maybe.

"It  _felt_ wrong.”

"Well, you are a teacher and not a nun so it’s not like you broke your vow of celibacy or anything. Maybe it was just the wrong person."

"Maybe. I mean, probably."

"Look around you. Plenty of other fish in the sea."

"Here? Yeah, not so much." And of course Emma didn’t mean  _here_ , but sometimes Mary Margaret seems to deliberately misunderstand things. Mary Margaret looks contemplative. “I think Michael might be the only member of staff who’s single.” Then she looks directly at Emma. “But he’d be a better match for you, I think.”

"Who the hell is Michael?" Emma asks.

"He runs the auto shop."

Right. Dark hair. Pretty eyes. And yet, “Not my type.”

"He has kids."

Seriously? That’s the vibe she’s giving off? “Then  _definitely_  not my type.”

"But you," Emma is almost grateful for the way Mary Margaret looks around and makes sure nobody hears before she says, "have a son. And you love him."

"That’s different. He’s mine so I’m allowed to tell him to shut up every now and then."

"Does he? Shut up?"

Emma sighs. “Not really.”

"So what  _is_  your type?” Mary Margaret asks.

Yeah, wouldn’t you want to know. “I don’t think I have a type,” she says.

She’s starting to think it might not be a type. It might be a person. And it might be the one person who will never, ever look at her that way.

 

*

 

"Fine," Regina says. " _Fine._ You can stay here.”

"Thank you, dear. I was afraid you’d leave your elderly mother out in the cold."

"It’s seventy degrees outside." But she opens the door a little wider, allows her mother into her house.

 _Fine_.

She will allow her mother to stay for two days. She will cook dinner and they will have a glass of wine and talk about her lack of ambition and her lack of a formidable career and her lack of a rich husband and she will not grit her teeth and she will not kill her mother.

 

*

 

Emma’s running towards the auditorium and she’s late and she’s not quite sure as to why all of staff are required to attend this ridiculous thing as well.

Mr. Gold’s explanation?  _A little ambition never hurt anyone_.

There are only a few seats left and only one in the back row which tends to be her preferred location. And it’s next to…

Ah, crap.

 

*

 

"Hey," Emma says when she slides onto the seat next to hers. "Did I miss anything?"

Regina glares at her because she chose the back corner for a reason. The reason being both her unwillingness to be here and her unwillingness to talk to any members of the staff about her mother.

Emma’s eyes narrow when she finally takes a look at the name at the top of the Powerpoint slide. “Wait.  _Mills_?”

She glares harder.

 

*

 

It’s crap. Both the presentation and the fact that Regina is glaring at her.

Cora Mills. Some kind of a fancy cardiologist at a hospital she’s never heard of, but the hospital is named after a person so she supposes it must be a famous one.

"Is that your… aunt? An older cousin? Your…  _mother_?” she whispers and the way the glare intensifies even more tells her the answer.

It also tells her something else. Something she can sort of relate to.

"Well, this is crap," Emma says. "Hey, you wanna get out of here?"

And Regina is still glaring, but when Emma risks a glance a little later, she catches the fleeting upturn of red lips.

 

*

 

It  _is_  crap. And she’s suddenly just a little appreciative of the fact that it’s Emma who’s sitting next to her.

Not even Kathryn would understand.

And Emma’s arm that she’s almost touching feels warm.

 

*

 

Afterwards, Mary Margaret is beaming as she tends to do when she’s experienced something awe-inspiring. “Cora Mills is a wonderful woman, isn’t she? She said some really poignant things.”

"Hmm," is all Emma says.

Her eyes scan the crowd and find Regina’s. She realizes Regina’s looking right back, which… Can it mean Regina was staring at her first?

Regina’s eyes are dark, but her expression is unreadable.

Emma’s not sure what to do so she smiles tentatively.

Regina averts her eyes, focuses on Kathryn and David again, but a few seconds later she’s looking at Emma again.

Her eyes are so very dark. Questioning. Almost alarmed.

 

*

 

Emma’s eyes shine and, all of a sudden, it hurts how bright they shine.

It’s the ache, the ache that’s been there for a while now, but it’s different now. It’s warm and it’s swelling, and it’s…

Her mother is suddenly standing next to her and looking in the same direction as she is and asking, “Is that your newest plaything? When will you learn?”

And suddenly she remembers who she is and why, exactly, she’s alone.

 

*

 

Emma is not sure what she did wrong.

First it was eyes meeting in a crowded room and never leaving each other – the stuff of every romantic movie ever.

And then nothing. Days and days of nothing.

She finally takes the hammer to the wall of her office. There’s nothing inside that she can see, but at least now she can see inside the wall because there’s a hole there.

Not that it helps.

 

*

 

On the day when her mother finally leaves, five days after she was supposed to leave, Regina is feeling like burning the world to the ground might be a good idea. Otherwise she’s just going to drown.

The world must burn because her mind is full of toxic thoughts and she had gotten over so many of those already. Her mind is also full of different thoughts, impossible thoughts, because it can’t be.

It can’t be that Emma Swan could be someone who could  _understand._

These thoughts, these ice cold and red hot thoughts, bring back memories of the days when burning the world down was exactly what she did.

The bike is still there in her garage, next to her Mercedes. It’s covered up and the only time it sees sunlight is when Michael picks it up for regular maintenance. Regina hasn’t really even looked at it in a long time. Hasn’t felt like doing so, not since the accident.

Her mother hated that bike almost as much as she hated  _'that trailer trash_ _specimen’_. She warned her about both – about Daniel and about the bike. And not only is Regina feeling oddly unhinged because of her mother’s visit but there’s also been this strange, gnawing feeling lately, something restless and fluttering and dissatisfied, so she’s thinking, why not.

Girls like Regina? They never rode horses. The girls who rode horses lived in the same part of town as she did, but they sneered at girls like Regina.

Girls like Regina rode the fastest bikes, the fastest cars, the fastest anything they got their hands on.

Daniel taught her how to rev a bike so that you feel it in your ribcage. He taught her where to discard the spray can after writing  _'tramp'_ on the car of the privileged bitch of the week, and he taught her how to roll a joint. And he taught her how to kiss, and when he wanted more and she said no, he didn’t try to go any further.

It’s not just Daniel that she misses. It’s also the wind in her face and what that represented. The black leather and being one with the road and becoming one with the darkness. Feeling the freest she’s maybe ever felt.

So why not?

 

*

 

One more day of work. One more day of teenagers who can’t focus because the fucking sun is shining, and Gold’s memos, and Mary Margaret and David looking longingly at each other.

And  _nothing._

Emma’s getting angrier and angrier with herself. When did it come to this? When did it come to crushing on your fucking boss so hard that the lack of eye contact feels like torture?

When exactly did that particular line start to blur?

"Is everything okay?" Mary Margaret asks.

"Yeah," she says. "I’m totally fine."

"Are you really? Because it seems to me like…"

"Like what?" she snaps. "Besides, are any of us really okay? You are still in love with your ex-husband and he’s so painfully obviously still in love with you, and you just, you just…" She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

"Emma? I don’t think you’re as fine as you say you are."

Yeah, well.

 

*

 

Another day of paperwork and trying not to look out of the window.

Another evening of driving too fast on meandering roads.

Another night of whiskey and no sleep and sadness.

 

*

 

The last straw is something very unexpected.

It’s a trip to the grocery store with her son that’s the last straw.

It’s just that.

Well.

Emma has seen things in her life. And still, there are certain sights she’s ready for and then there’s Regina Mills in a black leather jacket and tight black pants, and suddenly Emma doesn’t remember her PIN at the checkout.

"What’s wrong?" her son asks.

She doesn’t know what to say. It’s not something you can explain to an eleven-year-old.

She just knows she either needs to fuck someone or she needs to run, run, run until she’s too exhausted to care about anything but aching muscles.

It’s as simple as that. There’s got to be a way of getting over this.

Whatever this is.

There’s got to be a way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This was way past due."  
> "Pesto?"  
> "No, past due."  
> "Oh, I thought you said this was pesto."
> 
> The above is an actual exchange between Snooki & Jwoww and oddly fitting for this particular unforeseen occasion, I suppose. The thing is, there's been a sudden influx of kudos and comments on my stories lately which I assume is thanks to some kind individual(s) somewhere recommending my stuff to other kind individuals and that was enough guilt-infused motivation for me to pick up my metaphorical pen and actually edit this thingy that's been sitting on my hard drive for way too long.
> 
> This final section of the story is divided into two chapters because it's... lengthy. Here's part 1.

*

 

_**Summer, pt. 1** _

 

_***** _

 

It's just Regina and Gold at the school during these summer months.

Or, well, it's the two of them and the ghosts. You don't just roam the hallways of the same building for months and months and not leave an imprint, some lingering energy – something that, for fractions of seconds, could almost manifest itself corporeally. There are ghosts of students carrying heavy books around (dead eyes fixed on touchscreens), sipping energy drinks that are technically banned on school grounds. Ghosts of Kathryn's smile and David's idiotically easygoing charm.

The ghost of Mary Margaret Blanchard is always there, too, dressed in colors that are too soft and timid, and she's always staring at Regina, equally soft apologies rolling off her tongue so easily but never _understanding_ what it is she should apologize for.

Some days when Regina looks out of the window of her office (now that it's safe again), she thinks she catches a glimpse of red and yellow among the green grass, the blindingly blue sky, the patch of wildflowers by the parking lot. Emma's ghost is dressed in summer colors. Emma's colors _are_ summer colors.

A few weeks before the semester was over, she saw Emma in the grocery store. Emma was there with a boy and she had to look away, because the boy was holding a comic book and smiling sheepishly at Emma, and Emma checked the price tag and, then, smiled at him, and it was private and it was not something she wanted to see. This, this _mother_ wearing jeans and smiling at a brown-haired boy, was a new incarnation of Emma Swan and one she didn't need in her mental Emma file for so many reasons.

For some other reason, however, Regina can't seem to get that particular image out of her head. It haunts her like all the other ghosts in the empty school building seem to haunt her.

*

Emma is on her morning run (god, she's been running a lot this summer. Mostly for _reasons._ ) on a Wednesday when she spots Mary Margaret sitting on the sand at the beach where her route usually takes her.

She considers taking a detour, but her legs are about to give in and there's something sad about Mary Margaret's posture, the way her knees are drawn to her chest, so Emma plops down on the sand next to her and says, "Hey."

"Emma!" Mary Margaret's eyes light up and she smiles.

"What's up?"

"I've actually been wanting to call you, but I didn't know if you wanted to associate with colleagues when it's not something you're forced to do."

"Hey, you can always call me. I'm still gonna have the choice of not picking up." She grins at Mary Margaret.

"Thank you. I'm glad." Another smile. "How's your summer been?"

 _Well, recurring dreams of my boss and some really kinky dreams, too. Also, running ten miles on most days_ _in order to forget said dreams_ _._ _Oh and my kid's mad at me because we still can't afford that trip to Disneyland_ _and you know what? He's started locking_ _the door to_ _his room and maybe he's growing up and maybe soon he won't want to go to Disneyland in the first place and what am I gonna do then oh god_ _._ _How's yours so far?_ "Pretty uneventful," she says. "What've you been up to?"

"Nothing much." But Mary Margaret blushes before she says, "I've been volunteering at the animal shelter."

Somehow that doesn't seem like the kind of admission that would warrant that much blushing and nervous eye movement. The reaction piques Emma's curiosity. "What's special about the animal shelter?"

"I... No, it's just nice to be able to give back to the community."

"The community of... What? Runaway cats and dogs? Injured pigeons?"

The way Mary Margaret opens her mouth tells Emma that she's about to get an earful on cats and dogs and she's not wrong. "Do you know how many perfectly healthy cats and dogs are put on death row every year? And yet, people keep supporting puppy mills. It's sickening. It's truly, truly sickening. So many innocents suffering and there's so little we can do about that..." She ends the sentence in a quiet voice and with a single, sad shake of her head.

They don't talk politics. They just don't. It's better that way, Emma's decided, and she really doesn't want to know. So she doesn't ask Mary Margaret if she knows how many people there are on death row and how many of _them_ are innocent. She doesn't ask her if she knows how many kids there are in the system who have been abandoned exactly like those cats and dogs. So she focuses on exposing Mary Margaret's flimsy attempts at diverting her attention from whatever it is she's hiding. "So I'm supposed to buy that? That this is only about cats and dogs? I can spot a crappy lie, you know? Really, what's so special about the animal shelter?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Okay, if you really must know, David's there, too, most days. We've been talking and it's... It's nice."

 _Ha, victory._ "I knew it," Emma says. "Just talking?"

"Just talking, yes, Emma. Some people do that. Some people talk and share and... Did you really think I'd have an affair?" Mary Margaret's eyes narrow indignantly.

Emma wants to roll her eyes. "I don't know. I didn't think you'd be the type to have one-night stands either, but, I mean, it's human, right?"

Mary Margaret makes an offended _pffft_ sound, but it's a little too offended and she's blushing even more.

Right. _Gross._

People are gross when they are in love.

*

Gold has the decency to knock before he enters her office. Regina has time to compose herself.

Maybe not quite enough time, though, because Gold's first question is, "Are you feeling quite alright?"

"Since when have you and I talked about feelings, mine or otherwise?"

"Well, we _are_ friends, aren't we, dearie?"

She snorts. "Friends? We barely tolerate each other."

Gold tilts his head and for a second there is light in his normally empty eyes. "And, funnily enough, sometimes that's the surest sign of true kinship."

"If you have nothing important to say, go away." She has absolutely no patience for him right now. She doesn't sleep very well these days and the fatigue is definitely starting to affect her mood.

Gold doesn't go away. Instead of going away, he leans on his cane, offers her a tight-lipped smile and says in his most annoyingly tender patronizing tone, "Ah, Regina."

God how she hates that tone. "What?"

"I remember how you were as a student. So bright but always so angry that you got lost in it. And yet, even then I thought there was something... appealing about that rage. You had so much potential and with that rage and a little more focus, well..." Gold shakes his head. "It seemed like you were made for greatness. Destined, if you will."

Regina doesn't say anything. What could she say? Sometimes Gold says these things and it's almost as if he doesn't realize how ridiculous they sound. She has seen pictures of a very young Gold at Woodstock and there are moments like this when she wonders if he has picked up certain... old habits again.

Gold seems amused by her stern silence. "I'm merely saying that you seemed like someone who could've led armies and conquered new territories. Figuratively speaking, of course."

She snorts again. "I'm not interested in leading any armies."

"I'm starting to see that. I keep giving you pushes in the right direction, but you seem adamant about remaining right where you have always been. And I can't help wondering what it is that you want. Because, obviously, career advancement doesn't seem to be it."

"What do I want? Well, right now? Right now I want you to leave me alone."

"Is that so? Ah, well, as you wish, your majesty." He sometimes calls her that just to annoy her. It never fails. "Oh, and do remember we'll have to look through all those applications by tomorrow. The new guidance counselor isn't going to hire himself. Or herself, I suppose." Gold is about to go when something seems to occur to him. "Nice motorcycle, by the way. One piece of advice, though, if I may? You should really wear a helmet."

He's off before she has time to react. But then again, why would she even attempt to explain to Gold how a helmet would defeat the whole purpose of driving over the speed limit?

What is it that she wants, though?

The bike is shiny in the sunlight, chrome details polished with love and care, the air around it rippling because of the combination of sweltering heat and black asphalt, and she wonders what Daniel would think of her now. What would he say? It's been so long but somehow, maybe _because_ it's been so long, she finds herself thinking of Daniel a lot these days. She was supposed to leave on that bike and never come back. Daniel was supposed to be with her and they were supposed to wreak havoc together somewhere down south. It was a childish dream with not much practical substance perhaps, but at least it was a dream.

Then, all of a sudden, Daniel wasn't anything but a broken body on the side of the road, and she kept falling into the pits of an empty, empty slow-motion hell. Of course she called her mother before she called 911. After all, her mother was the one who fixed people – kept broken bodies alive even when it was supposed to be impossible, because how can you keep on living when your heart doesn't want to pump blood into your system anymore? Of course her mother was the first one on the scene. Of course it was too late when the ambulance came, and sometimes, sometimes when she _dares_ , she wonders.

She wonders if her mother really did everything in her power to resuscitate him.

*

"Please, mom?" The puppy eyes again. He's barely touched his dinner.

"I'm sorry, kid. The answer is still no. Maybe next year."

"You said the same thing last year."

"I never got to go to Disneyland either."

He sighs. Emma knows it's all kinds of unfair, this thing bordering on emotional manipulation (because she is not entirely sure about the implied: how he has had it _so much better –_ how would _she_ know?), but sometimes it's the only thing that makes him shut up. Besides, she can feel a headache coming, and he's been going on and on and on about this for weeks.

And yes, quite miraculously, he actually swallows a few forkfuls of meatloaf, but then he gets this look that means there's something, some desperate last resort that he's going to throw in. "Disneyland has air conditioning," he says and barely glances at his mom.

That actually makes Emma smile despite the impending headache. "So does fishing camp."

"Yeah, but that also has... fishing." He wrinkles his nose.

"What's wrong with fishing? Come to think of it, I think I still have the brochure somewhere. A little outdoorsiness never hurt anyone, you know?" When he just stares at Emma in wide-eyed horror, she laughs. "Finish your dinner, kid."

*

Kathryn comes to Regina's house with two bags of groceries. It's not unprecedented, but these evenings have become something of a rarity in the past few years.

Kathryn sautés the mushrooms and onions, then sits on a stool by the kitchen island sipping on wine and observing as Regina keeps adding the boiling vegetable stock into the arborio rice slowly, little by little, until she's somewhat satisfied with the consistency of the risotto.

It's a warm evening so they eat outside in the back garden. It's not the best mushroom risotto she's ever made and the wine has too many citrusy notes for her tastes, but Regina is surprised to realize she's not bothered by those things. The aroma of the food gets mixed with the scent of the sweet alyssums, lilies and gardenias and the distant hint of smoke drifting from a neighbor's yard. The garden is alive with sounds after a gentle rain that fell earlier during the day, and Kathryn's presence there is only slightly out of place.

They mostly talk about gardening. About apple trees and fertilizers and roses and gardenias. Almost as a side note, Kathryn mentions that they decided to take a break, Jim and her. It's not that things weren't good anymore, it's just that now that they don't see each other every day at work, things are much more complicated. "You'd think that it would be the other way around," Regina says and at Kathryn's puzzled look, she simply shrugs. She supposes it's not comparable – what Kathryn and Jim have and what her and...

What they don't have.

She doesn't ask about David. First of all, he has always been terribly uninteresting as a conversation topic, but more importantly, she knows Kathryn would say something if she wanted to.

True enough, after her fourth glass of wine, Kathryn sighs and simply says, "That bitch has been volunteering at the animal shelter."

"Oh," Regina says. She doesn't know who Kathryn is referring to, but she can guess. She also recognizes the way something about Kathryn is closed-off, changed. The loneliness – it's familiar and she knows there's nothing she can do or say to make that go away.

When Kathryn hugs her, she doesn't know how to react at first. But these days, as she realizes when she inhales the oh-so-familiar L'eau par Kenzo, things are easy between them. She no longer sees the point in resenting every man in Kathryn's life and Kathryn's eyes no longer linger nervously on her lips every time they have been drinking.

It simply doesn't hurt at all when Kathryn whispers, "You are such a good friend," and her breath is warm against her skin. It's not exactly true, but it doesn't hurt.

*

The phone rings way too early one morning and it's UPS and they have a delivery for an Emma Swan and the address seems to be for a school and they are so very sorry but they had accidentally shipped it to Montana first and then to Arizona and then, somehow, to Anchorage, Alaska and feel free to contact our customer service if you want to leave a complaint which is entirely within your rights as a customer but right now there's nothing that can be done about the mix-up, right?

_Crap._

The damn bench press machine. It's finally here. Emma groans as she pulls on a pair of jeans.

She has been doing her best to avoid going anywhere near the school. Just like, you know, any _sensible_ person on their summer vacation would.

Fucking UPS, but if she's quick, she should be done with this thing by the time the kid wakes up. _And_ by the time anyone else gets to the school. And by anyone, she mostly means a certain someone in particular.

*

It's not exactly a death wish, the way she usually rides so fast.

It's not.

But the world is blurry at 85 mph and blurry is better than contrasts. Light and dark. Warm and cold. Regina's tired of contrasts that seem so glaring sometimes when she thinks of herself and the rest of the world.

It's not a death wish, but she's tired, and seeing the rest of the world pass her by at 85 mph makes her feel oddly invincible.

Today, however, she takes her time to actually enjoy the early-morning heat, the luscious forest scenery, the way something about Kathryn's visit still lingers, something that is equal parts something resembling cheerfulness and something akin to a persistent longing.

*

The delivery people are fucking idiots who almost drop their cargo at least three times and then, suddenly, it's like she never left, because, once again, she's arranging weight plates and making sure nothing is about to collapse.

Emma hasn't missed the vague scent of sweat and something earthy always present in the weight room at all.

Luckily, setting up the machine and organizing everything doesn't take her too long and she's relieved when she's out in the sun again. She's jogging towards her car when she sees a black motorcycle pull into the parking lot, and Emma takes one look at the person riding it and...

_Jesus._

Regina's straddling the bike, everything about her black leather and confidence, and damnit, nobody's hair should look that perfect windblown. Her lipstick is a deep, dark shade of red, and her slow smile when she sets her boot-clad foot down on the asphalt is dangerous in so many ways.

Fifteen miles today. At least. Fifteen miles to forget the way her mouth goes dry, and she's probably licking her lips nervously before she manages to say, idiotically, "Hi."

One eyebrow quirks and if Regina is surprised to see her, she doesn't let it show. "Getting bored of vacationing?" she asks and she sounds almost amused. But hey, at least she's not ignoring Emma, so, you know, _progress_.

"The bench press machine," Emma says. "It finally arrived."

"Good."

"Sooo, that's why I'm here."

"I figured."

"I should go. The kid's gonna be up soon."

"Sure."

It looks like it's going to be another hot day, with the sun already pretty high up in the sky, and that's probably why Regina shrugs off the leather jacket, and suddenly there's cleavage and so much of it that it should probably be illegal on school grounds, and Emma has to go now or she'll never be able to stop gawking.

*

It's not a ghost.

It's Emma. It's actually Emma and she looks like she just woke up. She's pale in the morning sun and her hair is lighter than it's ever been. She's wearing jeans and a light green tank top.

It's the Emma who's been haunting her. She's pure light and she's beautiful.

It's not exactly resentment she's suddenly feeling, because it takes the form of an unexpected pang of utter joy, but there _is_ a much more dark and visceral element to it as well. She's vaguely aware of the fact that it's most definitely a defense mechanism, a defense against something, a certain yearning, but she doesn't care. Something that blinding can't exist – it needs to be destroyed.

Gold, for his inevitably shady reasons, may think Emma Swan is a savior, a Messiah-like entity, but she's sure Emma could also be compared to another religious figure.

Lucifer. The bearer of light who exposes and destroys worlds and souls.

Regina smiles, and she sees the way Emma licks her lips, and suddenly it's a conquest.

She's so tired of feeling. She's also tired of wanting.

One way or another, this needs to end and maybe she's just beyond the point of caring how.

 


End file.
